Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

I heard one of the small clocks in the shop chime midnight, meaning Selfish Day was over, but I figured I could push it a little longer.

I took a tiny step toward Max, who didn't move away. "I've been telling myself not to jump you for two days now, and you just made that a lot harder. Thank you for setting me free from that warrant."

He froze. "Jump me?"

Okay, not a great response. "Attack you for sex. It's okay, you're safe. I'm not good at seduction, so I'd probably just have lunged at you, and you, of course, would repel my attack because that's what you do?—"

He looked stunned. "Why would I repel you?"

"Because you're a mysterious loner, walking the Trail with your dog, suffice to yourself, needing no one."

"Maybe. But I'm not a monk."

"Oh." I swallowed again, confronted by a guy who might say yes. "This is the least sexy conversation ever."

"It woke me up," Max said, looking a lot less grim now.

Yeah, he might say yes. A guy I'd met one day ago, a guy who killed people, a guy who knew that Zurich was the most expensive city in the world . . .

"All right," I said, panicking now. "I apologize for sexually harassing you. Your bedroom is just as you left it. You know the way. Goodnight."

I put the shotgun down and ran up the stairs before I could say anything else dumb.

When I got to my apartment, breathing hard, I was really confused. Well, there was a lot going on.

I'd had to cope all day, no freaking out about imminent homelessness in front of Poppy, dealing with ex-spies while working the selfish thing, and then flailing around in front of Max, but I was alone now, and a little solo freaking seemed about right.

I checked on Poppy, who had fallen asleep with her headphones on as usual, William curled up next to her, keeping her warm. I pulled the headphones off gently and put them on her bedside table, and then just looked at her for a moment, my beautiful, beautiful daughter, more together at eighteen than I was at forty-nine. I was so damn proud of her. I kissed her on the forehead, softly so as not to wake her, and then went back to my room and crawled back into my own bed under my own big comforter and fell back on the six pillows piled up against my headboard. I like pillows. Sue me.

I lay there with the softness pulled up to my chest and wondered what the hell had happened to my life. Three days ago, I'd had a safe place to hide and raise my daughter, and today people with guns were coming into a place I was going to be evicted from, and there was an armed stranger in my kitchen whom I'd made a pass at, although I was pretty sure he'd be gone as soon as it was humanly possible. Which was fine.

Not really a stranger, though.

Max.

Right across the hall .

All I had to do was cross a state line. And probably apologize for running like a rabbit when he got close, but . . .

I looked at the white paper bag on my nightstand, the one that said "Quill's Pharmacy . "

The bag of sin.

I decided it was still Selfish Day. I'd woken up at nine, so I still had nine hours after midnight to get what I wanted, the hell with everybody else. Or try to get it. Take my shot. Go for it. Make Coral proud. Astound Lian.

Appall Max.

I got out of bed and took a shower and changed into a clean t-shirt and boy shorts because I didn't have anything sexy in nightwear. In anything, really. Then I sat there trying to get my nerve up. Max was perfectly capable of rejecting me and shoving my butt back over the state line, so I had to be prepared for that. But I had to be fierce, too. If he was going to reject me, he was going to have to put some back into it.

I took a deep breath, picked up my white paper bag of condoms and lube, and started for the door.

No, wait, brush my teeth first. That was just polite.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror while I brushed. I didn't look that bad. Maybe Max would appreciate a natural woman, no makeup or perfume, just me. It was a real shame that my face was starting to slide off my skull, but you couldn't have everything.

I thought about trimming some pubic hair, and maybe painting my toenails because I have great feet, I should call attention to them, and . . .

You're stalling, Malone. Get in there and take that man down.

I waffled around for a few more minutes and then pulled myself together, picked up the bag from the pharmacy, and crossed the state line. I knocked on the door, and after a minute, Max opened it and I pushed past him and walked in. I almost knocked him over—he wasn't expecting me to go in—but that's okay, I had a couple of other surprises for him, too.

"What the hell are you wearing?" he asked, and I turned around to make my move and stopped. Max had on pants and a towel around his neck, the ends hanging down and obscuring part of his chest, and that was it, the rest of him was naked and still kind of damp from his shower, and it was good naked. Too thin but broad in the shoulders. Muscles. Really good naked.

"Rose?" Max said.

I looked him up and down, taking the time to appreciate the moment. "You're a very attractive man."

"Thank you," he said. "Do you own a bra?"

"A few, but they're uncomfortable and nobody's looking at me anyway, I'm forty-nine."

Max closed his eyes. "I'm looking. What do you want, Rose? We have a big day tomorrow and I need sleep. And if you go back to your own state, I might get some blood back in my brain."

"Okay," I said. "Okay."

He nodded, patient as always.

"Okay," I said. "Here's the thing." I took a deep breath. "Yesterday was Selfish Day? I decided I could have anything I want? Well, I didn't wake up until nine, so I figure I could add the nine missed hours on to the end of the day, which means it's still Selfish Day even though it's tomorrow."

"And I need to know this why?" Max said, folding his arms over his chest.

He had a really nice chest.

"Okay," I said. "Here's the thing. I want you."

"Uh . . ." he said.

I grabbed the ends of the towel so he couldn't get away without strangling himself and I kissed him. Coral had told me to put some tongue in it, but Max and I didn't know each other that well?—

He put his arms around me and pulled me close and kissed me back, and I realized he was fully on board, his hands on my ass, which I'm pretty sure he had been checking out for two days. I have a great ass.

He made me dizzy with that kiss, the scent of him, the taste of him, the reality of him after all that thinking, his mouth hot on mine and his body that hard and close, plus it was Max. My God, I was kissing Max. So when he pulled back and looked at me like he was checking to see if I was okay, I grabbed him again—such a good kisser—wrapping my arms around him, and then he put his forehead on mine and said, "Before I drag you off to bed, exactly what did you have in mind? So I don't make any mistakes."

I looked up into those dark, dangerous eyes. "Everything. I want everything. I want us both naked and having every kind of sex you can imagine. Although probably not anal. And?—"

He kissed me again, and I felt him touch my lips with his tongue, and I opened for him, and let me tell you, the man hadn't spent all his time shooting people.

I pulled back, breathless. "Wow. This is going to be good."

He turned me around and started pushing me gently toward the bedroom, and then he stopped. "I don't have condoms."

I looked around and saw the bag with "Quill's Pharmacy" on it on the floor where I'd dropped it. I picked it up and handed it to him. "Although you're safe with me. I'm think I'm going through menopause so I probably can't get pregnant, and I haven't had sex in fifteen years so I'm STD-free."

I turned around in time to see the startled look on his face. Then he said, "Am I going to die tonight, Rose?"

"I don't know," I said, smiling at him, not a Cheery Boost, a real one. "Want to find out?"

" Yes ," Max said, and I headed for his bedroom with him close behind me.

I turned down the bed, flipping that great comforter to the foot, and climbed in.

Max put the box of condoms and the lube on the bedside table and opened the box to take out a strip. Then he sat on the side of the bed and looked at me. "Are you sure about this? I'll stay regardless."

"You trying to talk me out of this? Because you can't. I'm sure. Kind of. If I change my mind, I'll let you know." I hooked my thumbs in my shorts and shoved them off and pulled my tank off over my head. Naked.

I had a moment of panic then—my breasts aren't as high as they used to be, hell, nothing's as high as it used to be—but he reached for me, and I thought, Shut up, Rose, the man has breasts in his hands, he's happy, and I let myself sigh against him because he had good hands. "Lose your pants."

"Right." Max let go of me and shoved off his sweats and rolled into bed.

So I was in bed with a naked man. A naked Max. Whose hand was back on my breast. And my hand was on his chest. Which was nicely muscled without being man boobs. The muscles of a man of action, not the gym.

I took a deep breath. "As I have said, it's been many years since I've done this?—"

Max tightened his hand on me and I closed my eyes because it felt so good, all that strong heat pressing against my breast.

"—so I'm not sure everything works."

He pulled me close, and I arched into him, into all that heat and muscle and contrast and pleasure. "You don't have anything that has to work. I'm the one with the moving part." He moved his hand to my other breast. "And all your non-moving parts are excellent." He bent and licked my un-grasped breast, sucking a little on my nipple, and I shuddered at the touch, so good that I could feel it everywhere, and thought, Lie back and think of Max, you idiot, and kissed his neck and then bit him gently, letting my hand trail down his side to his hip. He shivered, so that was good. He had nerve endings. He was so stoic, I wasn't sure, but when I moved my hand again, he exhaled against my neck, and I was sure.

Then he took my hand away, and I figured it might have been too much, so I slid my hand up to his chest and started to kiss my way down, absolutely sure I remembered how to?—

"Nope," he said, pulling me back up. "Definitely later, but?— "

I sat up. "Are you going to direct this whole thing?"

"No," he said, staring at my breasts. "But if you want this to last more than a minute, we concentrate on you first."

It was hard to argue with that logic.

He reached for me again, and I slid down against him again, nestled in, and he wrapped his arms around me and said, "You are a very beautiful woman, Rose," and I said, "No, I'm not, don't lie to me," and he said, "Right now, you are the most beautiful thing in my world," and he kissed me, and I lost myself in that great mouth and figured that right now, I probably was. Naked does tend to blind guys. Then he began to lick his way down my body—he got distracted when he hit my breasts, but that was okay—and I kept my hands moving over him, finding a lot of scars and a lot of muscle that tensed when I touched him, and then he pushed my legs apart and I helped, only panicking a little, and then he showed me a whole new meaning of "competence porn."

I forgot about my aging body and possible non-working parts and just lost myself in the wet heat of his mouth on me, his hands gripping me while I touched him everywhere, scraping my fingernails against his back, through his hair as he made me tense and shiver, drunk on his touch and the shudder at my core when he hit the right stuff, the strength of his grasp on my hips as the pressure grew until I finally broke, spasming against his mouth, finally getting that explosion that cleared out all my cells, leaving me limp with satisfaction and, since it was Max, security. He might leave me, but Max would never use me, hurt me, betray me. Not because he said he loved me—he didn't, we'd only known each other two days—but because he was Max.

Yeah, I know I was insane to think that after two days, but I did.

So when he crawled up to me, the weight of him on top of me, I held him tight and wrapped my legs around him and sighed at the things he murmured in my ear, and when he reached for the condom, I reached over him for the lube, my hand shaking, leaving nothing to chance.

Then he rolled over on his back and said, "On top, please. I want to look at you," and I straddled him, soft against his hard, sent up a short prayer that everything would still work, raised up a little, found him, and sank down over him.

The shock of him inside me, the thickness and the heat and the fullness there, like jumping into a lake the first time of a summer, except he was hot not cold, so hot under my hands, and then opening my eyes as I gasped from the impact of him and seeing him, seeing Max , it was Max under me, inside me, Max with his head thrown back, naked and vulnerable in me, and I was so flooded with heat that I almost forgot to move, but he didn't, flexing under me, holding me tight and close, and I lost my breath and lost myself in him.

Everything still worked.

He touched me everywhere, but all I could see was him, watching him shudder as I moved, feeling myself tremble as he surged up into me, the tension building in his face with our rhythm, the charge of knowing I was driving him crazy every time I clenched over him, rocked on him, his hands tightening on me. The power was erotic, but not as erotic as Max, scarred and strong and dark and devastating, staring at me in the light from the streetlamp outside as he moved inside me, part of me, his hands all over me, and I let myself go, all my fear and uncertainty, and trusted him completely.

Then he shifted under me, moved his hand down to where we were joined, and began to stroke, and everything tightened, and I cried out and shattered, spasming against him again, over and over because he didn't stop moving, didn't stop touching me. And when I was finally spent, lying on top of him, holding on to him for dear life, he rolled us over and began to move over me, against me, inside me, shaking on the edge of control, and I bit him on the shoulder to make him hurry. He was holding me so tight he was going to leave bruises, and I loved it, drowning in how out of control he was, surging against me as if he couldn't stop, his hand tangled in my hair as he held me where he wanted me, his face twisting as he moved inside me, Max coming apart because of me, and that was almost as good as me doing that. And when he groaned and came, I loved how sated, how satisfied he felt as he slumped against me, how he never let go of me, even when he rolled us to our sides, and I wrapped my arms around him tight and we just lay there, breathing hard for a while, minds blown and bodies spent, secure in each other's arms.

"That was good," I said finally, when I had my breath back, and he opened one eye to stare at me.

" Good? "

"That was really good," I said. "We'll get better with practice."

"Practice?"

That was a question? I sat up a little. "That was a one-time thing?"

He sat up a little, too, and kissed my breast. "No, that was not a one-time thing. It's gonna be a long night."

"A one-night stand?"

He looked at me, exasperated. "What do you want?"

"I want a lot of sex for as long as you're here."

He nodded. "I can do that."

"Good." I lay back down and snuggled against him, and he pulled me close again, one hand back on my breast, which was comforting and a little funny. I'd had him pegged as an ass man.

"I'm not a long-term guy, Rose," he said.

"Oh, go to sleep," I said.

I woke up a couple of hours later, and it took me a minute to realize I wasn't in my bed and I had a naked Max curled up close and warm behind me, his hand on my ass now. A multitasker , I thought and laughed to myself.

It was still dark, so I should really go back to my own bed and let Max wake up alone. I knew he'd prefer that. But it was Selfish Day and I was curled up next to a furnace of a man and maybe I'd get morning sex before I made breakfast for everybody. And we could eat it together in the sunny kitchen and . . . I could get used to this, I thought and then kicked myself. He'd made it clear this was not long-term.

But short-term? Yes, please. Breakfast was on.

I hit the bathroom and then went downstairs to see what I had to work with for breakfast in the morning and saw my paregoric self-portrait on the table. A bottle anchored by poppies, Ozzie and my kid.

And I thought, But I'm different now.

It's amazing how good solid sex can clear out the cobwebs in your body. I'd forgotten that, how it could make you feel more alive in every cell, make you glad you had a body as more than a delivery system for your mind. Sex was the body delivering to the mind, saying, Hey, we're more than thoughts and plans and chores and lists. Basically, I thought, sex is an authentic Cheery Boost for the brain.

And then I thought about that damn bottle in front of me, a picture of myself that consisted of an empty container that once contained exhilarating possibilities, now anchored by family. That was it. I was an empty bottle.

Except that Max had really gone for that empty bottle. I thought of the way his hands had gripped me, pulled my hips to his, the way he'd gone back to my breasts again and again; I got hot all over again just thinking about the way he touched me. Max, the multitasker , I thought and laughed again. Okay, that was still defining myself by others, but he'd reminded me that I was a body made for pleasure, too, so . . .

I found the box of artificial flowers we kept in the pantry with the rest of the collage stuff and pulled out a spray of pink roses. Then I went back to the bottle and glued two of the rose heads in front of the bottle for breasts and two lower down on the back for butt cheeks. They were big roses so they were kind of overdoing it, but I didn't care, I loved them. I loved me. Max had given me back my body and I had just given it to my bottle.

Okay, the bottle still wasn't the whole me, but it was a lot more fun, a lot more attractive . . . a lot less empty.

I remembered the way Max had filled me, all that solid sureness inside me, stroking me to ecstasy . . .

I put the glue away and went upstairs to the guy who'd given me ideas.

I walked back into Oz's apartment and thought, I have to clean this up . If Max was staying for a while, we really needed to clear Oz's stuff out so he'd feel . . . comfortable. Stop spinning a web, I told myself. Comfortable would not make Max stay; if anything, it would probably drive him out the door. The man had a real addiction to suffering?—

"Rose?" Max said, and I turned to see him standing naked in the doorway to the bedroom, gun in hand, which he was mercifully pointing at the floor.

"You know, this gun addiction you have," I began.

"Do not wander around in the dark bumping into things. This town has too many people in it coming for you."

I nodded to the gun. "And evidently you're one of them?"

"I didn't know it was you."

"Couldn't you have assumed?—"

"No."

He was so sure about that, and when I thought about it, I realized that the reason Max was still alive was probably because he didn't assume.

I nodded. "Fair enough. Do you want me to leave so you can get some sleep?"

"No." He gestured with the gun. "Get back in my bed, Rose."

"Put the gun down first," I said, and he turned back to the bedroom, and I followed him.

It was cold and he was warm and that bed was the safest place I'd been in a long time.

He was putting the gun in the ruck when I climbed back into my side of the bed. "You can leave that out if you need to," I told him.

He turned to look at me. "Are you afraid?"

"Of you? No. Of what might come through the door? A little. Mostly I'm just cold."

He put the gun on the bedside table and rolled in beside me and put his arms around me and pulled me close and I wasn't cold anymore.

"I'm sorry I'm screwing up your life," I said into his shoulder. "But I'm grateful, too. "

"Speaking of screwing," he said, and I laughed a little, and then he said, "You're not screwing up my life. You're just making it more interesting." He kissed me, and I thought, He's really good at that. I'm really good at that. WE are really good at that.

It was a really good thought.